Devil in the Details
by Misty Reeyus
Summary: In the new timeline, Yomiel and Jowd have more than a few things in common. Sissel won't let either of them forget it.


Written for Ghost Swap 2016

 **Prompt:** Jowd and Yomiel bonding over some obscure thing no one would have assumed the two would like, let alone both enjoy. New timeline, after Yomiel's release.

* * *

It's Yomiel's second day as a free man, and he's spending it as Detective Jowd's house guest.

They'd all planned for this back when Yomiel was still locked up. Sissel made his wish clear the last time he came leaping into the prison through the phone lines to visit: _As soon as they let you out, I want to see you in person._ Jowd apparently agreed to it then, and now he's making good on his word as he leads Yomiel to the living room, where his leg is immediately headbutted by a tiny ball of black fur.

Yomiel bends down on his knees to get down to Sissel's level, and once he's close enough to see a squeaky mouse toy trapped between tight jaws, the cat plops said toy into Yomiel's hand and mewls contentedly. Yomiel smiles.

"Dinner will be in an hour. You two catch up all you like until then." With that, Jowd turns his back and leaves the room—and if Yomiel wasn't already looking for it, he wouldn't notice the ever-so-slight hurry to his steps. But as is, it feels less like Jowd is just giving them some privacy and more like he's trying to escape as quickly as possible.

Yomiel frowns. He doesn't know Jowd well, but he thinks something's been _off_ about him ever since the moment they stepped into this house, something that wasn't there when they met at the police precinct after Jowd's shift. Despite how friendly and accommodating Jowd has been, he seems to be uncomfortable with Yomiel being inside his home.

Yomiel can't blame him. The last time he entered this house, he left a smoking gun, a fresh corpse, and an utterly destroyed family in his wake.

 _He doesn't want me to be here, does he?_

It's a stray thought, not really meant to be directed at anybody, but Sissel attaches his soul to the core in Yomiel's brain just in time to hear it.

 _Not for the reason you're thinking,_ Sissel tells him. _Detective Jowd just doesn't like reminders of the old timeline in general. He gets especially antsy when those reminders are near Kamila or Alma._

Yomiel nods, instantly understanding once Sissel visualizes it for him. Jowd wants to keep that lost, tragic past completely separate from the people who are now living blissfully in this present. Yomiel thinks of Sissel—the human one, the one who doesn't know, the one who is alive and happy and waiting back at home for him right now—and gets it entirely. He wants to keep her as far away from their old life as possible, too.

 _Anyways,_ _ **I**_ _want you to be here,_ Sissel remarks, nuzzling his nose against Yomiel's hand. _You're my owner, too. Detective Jowd understands that._

That understanding is already far more than Yomiel deserves—but no, no, he doesn't feel like diving into that bottomless pit of self-loathing right now. Instead, Yomiel just reaches out to scratch Sissel behind the ears.

His best friend purrs contentedly.

* * *

Yomiel hadn't known the type of person Alma was when he manipulated her daughter into killing her. He hadn't cared to find out. In his twisted state of mind, all that mattered was the fact that she was precious to Jowd, that she was the very best means through which he could make the detective suffer.

Yomiel has only been in this house for all of ten minutes, but he's positive now that the woman he murdered was one of the very last people to deserve it.

Not that _anyone_ would have deserved what Yomiel did, no matter who they were, but Alma is so honestly _nice_ that the knife of guilt lodged in Yomiel's heart just digs in that much deeper. Alma knows what happened between him and her husband ten years ago, yet as she stands before him now, she shows him absolutely no ill will. There is no suspicion on her face, no fear in her eyes—if anything, she seems amused to see Yomiel playfully dangling a squeaky toy in front of the cat—and her smile is warm as she asks if he would like anything to drink.

Alma clearly believes Yomiel is here to make amends—and even though he's mainly here for Sissel, she's not entirely wrong, either.

Even if his most grievous sins technically don't exist anymore, Yomiel can't forget them, and he has promised himself that he will never stop trying to atone. It may not be much, but having a real conversation with the woman who he once saw as nothing more than a disposable tool in a sadistic revenge plot is at least a place to start.

"Do you have iced tea?" Yomiel asks, finally letting Sissel grab hold of the squeaky toy so that he can stand and follow her into the kitchen.

"So long as you're fine with strawberry flavor," Alma responds, grabbing a glass from a cupboard. When Yomiel nods his approval, she neatly glides over to the fridge and tugs it open.

Yomiel immediately notices how eye-catching that fridge is, adorned with colorful magnets that pin up various assortments of family photographs and what look to be Kamila's A+ test papers. What most captures his attention, though, is a particular picture—not a photograph, but a _painting_ —that is a near-perfect depiction of Alma's likeness.

"Amazing, isn't it? Jowd painted that himself."

Alma's voice in his ear makes Yomiel jolt, and he suddenly realizes he's been staring. Smiling sheepishly, he grabs the filled glass that's proffered to him and takes an appreciative sip.

"Your husband seems quite skilled." Not that Yomiel is surprised. To make sure that Jowd was truly and properly suffering, he used to ghost into the prison to check in on him, so Yomiel already knew that the detective had become quite an artist. Even back when he was bitter and vengeful, Yomiel was always reluctantly impressed with how accurately Jowd was able to represent faces.

"Oh, he is! And would you believe, he actually tried to hide that from me." Alma laughs, the noise tinkling and almost bell-like. "I mean, he was always so dedicated to detective work. I never had a clue he had any interest in art until I caught him holed up in the attic with with a stash of painting supplies."

Yomiel has a feeling he knows exactly why Jowd tried to hide it, but Alma seems so amused at the memory that he actually finds himself grinning too. "Unbelievable. Meanwhile, I _wish_ my portraits would turn out this good."

"Oh!" Alma visibly brightens. "You paint too?"

"Uhhh. Yeah, well…" Yomiel awkwardly scratches the back of his head. "They didn't really allow me to mess with computers in prison, so I needed to pick up a new hobby."

To Alma's credit, she takes that news rather gracefully. She gives a small, apologetic smile, then claps her hands together, effortlessly lightening the mood up again. "Well, why don't you ask Jowd for some tips then? Maybe you two could learn from each other."

Yomiel doubts Jowd would be up for it, for various different reasons that Alma could not possibly be privy to. Regardless, he nods.

"I'll think about it."

* * *

 _Hey, Detective Jowd. After we finish eating, you should show Yomiel your art studio._

The telepathic suggestion comes in the middle of dinner with absolutely no warning, and Jowd rather noticeably chokes on his bite of chicken, a sharp inhale followed by a couple of deep coughs. At his side, Kamila gasps in concern and reaches over to pound fists into her dad's back until he waves her away with a hurried "I'm alright. It's what I get for eating so fast."

Kamila nods her understanding. Across the table, Alma laughs.

Jowd hisses mentally, _Sissel, why would you even_ _ **mention**_ _that?_

 _You know how Yomiel paints, too? Alma said earlier that you two might be able to learn from each other._

Yomiel blinks in surprise before finally chipping in on this three-way call. _You were listening in?_

 _I was literally your glass._ Sissel seems far too amused by that. _You didn't even notice._

Yomiel shakes his head, glancing around. In the corner of the kitchen, Sissel's body lies curled up and motionless by his food bowl—he's not in it, obviously, since he's facilitating this soundless conversation. Thankfully, it doesn't seem as if Alma or Kamila have noticed that anything's off: Kamila is busy playing with the peas on her plate, and Alma is busy chiding her for doing so.

 _No offense, Yomiel,_ Jowd cuts into his thoughts, _but my studio is mine. I don't even let Alma up there most of the time._

 _None taken,_ Yomiel replies. _I wasn't expecting anything in the first place._

Sissel telepathically groans.

Jowd furrows his brow. _How did you get onto that topic with Alma anyways?_

 _Your painting on the fridge caught my attention._ Yomiel points his fork vaguely at the Alma portrait. _It's fantastic, by the way._

That manages to draw a slight smirk from Jowd. _Thank you, I suppose. I honestly don't consider that one of my better portraits, but Alma insisted on displaying it, she liked it so much._

 _Yeah, that painting is nothing,_ Sissel chimes in. _You should see the ones in his portfolio!_

Jowd sputters again, this time on his soup, and Yomiel quirks a brow. Apparently, the detective is just generally uncomfortable with _any_ mention of his art.

"Dad, are you okay?" Kamila pipes up from her end of the table. On her other side, Alma now looks somewhat concerned too, but she merely purses her lip and says nothing.

"Fine, sweetheart," Jowd assures, patting Kamila's shoulder. His eyes flicker to her empty plate, proof that the brave girl was finally able to force down her peas. "Are you finished?"

Kamila nods.

"Alright then, you go up and finish your homework now."

"Okay!" Kamila jumps down from her chair and dashes for the stairs, waving a cheery goodbye to Yomiel as she does. Yomiel waves back halfheartedly; the kid doesn't even know who Yomiel is, all she was told was that he's her father's guest. She doesn't know, so when she smiles at Yomiel, it's far brighter than he deserves.

With Kamila gone, the dining room goes quiet. For a while, there are no discussions, either outward or inward.

 _…So, Detective Jowd—_

 _ **Fine**_ _, okay! If you'll stop bugging me, I'll take Yomiel up to the studio. Happy?_

 _Very,_ Sissel announces smugly, the cat that got the cream.

Yomiel can't help it. He snorts into his own soup.

* * *

The art studio is in the attic: a bit dusty, but decently spacious, and clearly well stocked with paints and brushes. Large canvases lie stacked up against the corner near an easel, and a wooden desk with a tabletop smeared in color stands in the center of the room. Sissel hops up onto the desk and, after some telepathic needling, manages to cajole Jowd into yanking open one of the desk's drawers and retrieving a manila folder.

"Here," Jowd sighs, handing it to Yomiel. "Knock yourself out."

Yomiel takes a seat on the stool to do just that, and as he slowly makes his way through the file, he becomes only increasingly impressed. The portraits don't stop with Jowd's wife and daughter. There are coworkers, too: police officers and detectives, some of whom Yomiel actually recognizes. There are others who Yomiel has no idea who they are, who might not even be actual people in real life, but who still seem so incredibly lifelike on the canvas…

Yomiel pauses when he comes across a portrait of himself.

Surprised, he whirls his gaze up towards Jowd, who seems rather alarmed himself. Jowd's eyes are wide, as if he'd forgotten that painting was even there.

"…I don't know why I painted that," Jowd says, voice quiet, almost _weak_ even, and they continue staring at each other until Jowd finally breaks it off by slumping back against the desk. Tension visibly drains from his form—tension that he hid well but that Yomiel can now see has been there all evening—and only now that he's safely away from his wife and daughter does Jowd finally allow his mask of smiles to come crumbling down. "Gods, I don't know why I'm still painting at all."

Sissel casually flicks his tail. _You said you started because you never wanted to forget the faces of the people who mattered to you._

"Yes," Jowd says, "but now I get to see the people who matter to me every day. And some of those other faces I've been painting are just random people on the street who I've never even met." He brings a hand up to rest his forehead in his palm. "I have no real reason to paint anyone anymore."

"But you couldn't stop." Yomiel doesn't mean it as a question.

Jowd simply nods. "It felt wrong. And the longer I went without painting, the more wrong it felt, and I couldn't shake it until I started again."

Jowd haggardly runs his fingers through his beard, actually looking kinda messed up. Yomiel guesses he must have needed to let this out for a while.

"Well, it's the kind of thing that if you do it long enough, it just becomes a part of you." Yomiel shrugs. "Ever since I started painting, I've actually started to really care about getting better at it."

Jowd quirks his brow with what looks like interest, so Yomiel picks up the portrait of himself to brandish it in his hands.

"That said, seriously, I have to know. How are your faces so _perfect_?" Yomiel points frantically to his own likeness on the page. "I can _never_ get the composition and detail to look this right."

Jowd chuckles, his shoulders relaxing. "I don't do anything special, really. I'm just good with faces. Comes with being a detective."

Yomiel lets out a groan. "Ugh, and I've even been doing it longer than you! Ten years, and I still can't manage to paint a decent portrait."

Sissel licks at his own paws. _I dunno. I liked that last painting I saw you working on in your cell._

The one of Sissel perched up on a bridge, his form shadowed against the backdrop of the moon and the city lights. "Well yeah, but that was more like a landscape painting," Yomiel scoffs. "Those are the only ones I'm good at. It's so much easier to work with depth perception and color than with physical features."

"Really?" Jowd actually sounds vaguely impressed. "Honestly, I couldn't do landscapes if my life depended on it. Headshots, great, but the minute you want me to paint anything that's not a face, I'm out." He gestures to the portfolio in Yomiel's lap. "There's a reason none of those have backgrounds."

 _Duly noted,_ Yomiel thinks, and in the back of his mind, he can feel Sissel perking up.

 _Yomiel, bring some of your landscapes with you next time! Then you two can keep talking about all this painting stuff and trade tips._

Jowd frowns. "Sissel, I don't know if that—"

 _Besides,_ Sissel continues unheeded, _Yomiel needs a reason to come back here again. Alma's not going to believe he came here to make amends a second time, but the art thing was her idea in the first place. She'll buy it._

 _He's got a point,_ Yomiel can't help but agree, and grins sheepishly when Jowd levels him with a miffed glare.

Eventually though, Jowd sighs.

"Fine then," he concedes, glancing over to Yomiel. "I'm free Saturday at three. Does that work for you?"

Yomiel is going to be free for a good while yet, at least until he manages to do something about his current state of unemployment, so he nods. "Yeah. I can do that."

Up on the tabletop, Sissel stretches victoriously.

* * *

After a few initial meetings, they settle into a comfortable pattern.

Jowd teaches Yomiel how to sketch lines and visualize shapes to form accurate faces. Yomiel teaches Jowd how to mix colors and paint in layers to create a realistic sense of depth. They print out photographs of landscapes and faces to use as references, then they each sit on opposite sides of the desk to paint the hours away in companionable silence.

(And Sissel, curled up comfortably in the space between both his treasured owners, is perfectly content.)


End file.
